


no rest (for the wicked)

by pennyofthewild



Category: Free!
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/pseuds/pennyofthewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[When Aiichirou emerges from the showers, he finds Yamazaki-senpai sitting cross-legged on the floor by the benches outside the natatorium. His back is pushed up against the bench, arms crossed, head stooped forward.]</p>
<p>Nitori’s late-night practice routine lands him in (a little bit of) trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no rest (for the wicked)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Empatheia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/gifts).



> ~~what have i done~~  
>  Written for a prompt Andi left me over at my tumblr!
> 
> [[listen]](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZuXmlUc880)

“You know, overtraining is really dangerous. Heaven knows I’m proof.”

Yamazaki-senpai’s voice echoes in the empty natatorium. Aiichirou hears the squish-slap-squish of his footsteps against the wet pool deck, growing louder the closer he gets. He crouches by the poolside, dressed in sweatpants and a giant t-shirt, a knowing expression on his face.

Aiichirou feels his cheeks flame. “Yamazaki-senpai,” he says, treading water, “I thought you’d turned in for today.” He pushes his fringe off his forehead.

“Thought I’d check in on you,” Yamazaki-senpai says, “good thing, hmm.” He’s got his arms draped over his knees, fingertips grazing the floor. His eyes are heavy-lidded with tiredness, but he manages a smile. Yamazaki-senpai’s smiles transform his face from something severe into, well, something else. Aiichirou can’t quite think of how to describe it. “-how many times do I have to tell you to call me Sousuke?”

“Rin-senpai made me captain,” Aiichirou says, a non-sequitur if there ever was one, and he climbs out of the pool, arms shaky with the effort of pulling himself up. He sits down, gingerly, wincing at the cold poolside tiles.

“You call _him_ Rin-senpai,” Yamazaki-senpai mutters, half to himself. “Yeah, I was there. Obviously somebody thinks you’ve got what it takes, don’t they?”

Aiichirou sighs, pausing in the act of toweling off his hair. “I can’t help but wonder at his optimism,” he says. It’s all he can think of, after the initial glow of _Rin-senpai believes in me_ wore off. His head throbs. What is the time, anyway? Aiichirou doesn’t remember how long he’s been practicing. He lost count of the number of laps he’s swum sometime between twenty-five and thirty.

Yamazaki-senpai tousles Aiichirou’s hair, sending a little spark of electricity down Aiichirou’s spine from his fingertips. “At least give him credit, if you’re bent on putting yourself down. Rin doesn’t believe in people for no reason.”

“Sorry,” Aiichirou mumbles, and then wonders what he is apologizing for, exactly.

“What are you apologizing for?” Yamazaki-senpai says, voicing Aiichirou’s thought aloud. He folds his hands in his lap, interlacing his fingers, as if he is trying to keep them still.

“I’m not sure,” Aiichirou stumbles over the words, tongue heavy. Out of the pool, exhaustion weighs him down, his muscles protesting at the brutality of the workout they’ve been subjected to. Aiichirou yawns. He can’t remember the last time he did not fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Yamazaki-senpai stands, holding a hand out in Aiichirou’s direction. “C’mon,” he says, “the longer you sit there the harder it will be to get up, later.”

***

When Aiichirou emerges from the showers, he finds Yamazaki-senpai sitting cross-legged on the floor by the benches outside the natatorium. His back is pushed up against the bench, arms crossed, head stooped forward. He is, Aiichirou notes as he approaches, very much asleep, bathed in moonlight slanting in from the tall window across the hall.

Aiichirou smiles. He crouches down, reaching out to touch Yamazaki-senpai’s good shoulder.

“Senpai,” Aiichirou says, softly, shaking him a little. “Get up; you shouldn’t sleep here.”

Yamazaki-senpai doesn’t budge. His head is bent so far forward Aiichirou knows he’s going to wake up with a crick in his neck. Sitting back on his heels, Aiichirou contemplates the distance from the natatorium to the dormitories.

“Senpai,” he calls again, raising his voice a little. The hallway is so quiet and empty the word echoes back at him, multiplied. It doesn’t matter to Yamazaki-senpai, though; he keeps on sleeping.

Okay, Aiichirou tells himself, there’s nothing to it. He sets the strap of his bag over and across his shoulders, so that it won’t jostle as he walks. Here goes nothing.

By the time Aiichirou has pulled Yamazaki-senpai to his feet, he is out of breath. He stands in the middle of the corridor, supporting Yamazaki-senpai with an arm around his waist, shouldering Yamazaki-senpai’s weight. If he were taller, Aiichirou thinks wryly as he begins the slow, painful trek down the hall, maybe this wouldn’t be so awkward.

Ten minutes later, Aiichirou arrives outside Yamazaki-senpai’s dorm room. As he pauses outside the door, shoulder cramping up where Yamazaki-senpai’s elbow is digging into it, Aiichirou (belatedly) comes to two realizations:

a)      he does not have a key to the room

and

b)      even if he did have a key, Yamazaki-senpai sleeps on the upper bunk.

Aiichirou groans, internally, before making for his room, further down the hall. He fishes his key out of his pocket with one hand, slotting it into the lock, and pushes the door open with his foot. A little too hard; the handle collides with the wall as the door swings inward.

On the top bunk, Momo-kun shifts, muttering something under his breath, but he does not wake up. Neither does Yamazaki-senpai, who remains dead to the world as Aiichirou hauls him the last couple feet over to the lower bunk and dumps him, unceremoniously, onto the mattress.

Yamazaki-senpai curls in on himself like a giant cat, tucking his hand under his cheek. He is so _long_ his knees push up against the wall, his back teetering precariously close to the edge of the bed. Aiichirou rubs at his arm and shoulder. He yanks the covers out from under Yamazaki-senpai, pulling them closely up and around Yamazaki-senpai’s chin, then stands back, glancing over the room.

Oh, shoot, he thinks, where am _I_ going to sleep?

***

Sousuke comes to slowly, a prickle of awareness tugging at his consciousness, drawing him from sleep into wakefulness. There is a mop of silver-gray hair tucked against his chest, a slender pale arm draped over his waist. Sousuke blinks, in an attempt to clear the fog from his mind. The mop of hair does not go away.

An amused voice drawls, “Sousuke,” from somewhere above his head.

Sousuke’s gaze travels up the (tan, muscular) arms crossed over (a black-clad) chest, to a sharp-toothed smirk and a pair of (knowing, red) eyes.

“Wondered where you disappeared to, last night,” Rin says, laughter curling around the edges of his voice. “Boy, do I feel dumped.”

Sousuke tilts his chin at him. “Welcome to join us ‘nytime,” he says, words slurring into each other.

Rin grins, setting a knee on the bed. He leans in, close, as if to call Sousuke out on his bluff. Sousuke can smell the mint of his toothpaste on his breath, and the dampness of his newly-washed hair. Sousuke finds he can’t blink, eyes trapped in Rin’s, the scarlet of his irises, his blown-out pupils.

At the last moment, Rin draws back, eyes dancing. “Ah, some other time,” he says, “you couldn’t fit one of Momotarou’s stag beetles on that bed with you and I’m not fond of tight squeezes.”

“Tease,” Sousuke mutters at his retreating back.

“Don’t be late to practice, now,” Rin says, at the door, “Ai’s not captain yet.”

Sousuke groans.

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

end.


End file.
